Never Break a Promise
by Ms. Donovan and Ms. Midnight
Summary: It's 11 o'clock in Paris...do you know where your raccoon is? THIS IS NOT SLYCARMELITA. Be warned. A squirrel Mafia Donna has a chat with her friendly neighborhood master thief. More within...


**Hello, all! Semine here!  
**

**Wait! Don't leave yet! Lemme explain.**

**Kali (mah counterpart) wrote a really awesome fic under this name a while ago, called "Shadow of a Thief." (Good stuff...you should go read it, after you read this.) Since this is a joint account, and we are in the tail end of a contest, I figured, "Hey, even though I don't know much of anything about this 'verse, well, why not?"**

**And this fic was born. **

**DISCLAIMER: I am naught but a poor geek who needs to get her bum in gear and write something that will make moneies. I own this story and Kacia, Laurence, Aunt Hazel, Lefty, and Handsome Zeke (don't worry, people who like the canon: although Kacia is an OC who pays a large part, none of the other OCs get much air time at all, so relax!). I own nothing else.**

**If you are a Sly/Carmelita shipper and you ONLY SHIP SLY/CARMELITA AND ARE OPPOSED TO ANY OTHER SLY COOPER PAIRING AT ALL, please do not read further. If you are a Sly/Carmelita shipper but you have an openish mind and don't mind the occasional different Sly/Somebody pairing, read on, please! If you don't ship Sly/Carmelita, I agree with you and humbly request that you read on.**

** Now that that's out of the way, roll it, Louie!

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**Holding her laundry basket close to her chest, the slim squirrel stepped out into the fresh night air on the balcony. Her distant, dreamy gaze took in the beautiful city of Paris, seductive and colorful in the stillness of the black sky. Hardening to olive gems, her eyes darted to a spot in her backyard where a twig had broken.

It had not broken from being underfoot. He was too good at moment for that.

The distant gaze had lifted its smoky veil from her eyes, replaced by alertness, a wild fire just held back behind the two muddy-green irises. The whiskers on her delicate brown muzzle twitched as she stood, thinking. Then, she reached into her laundry basket and pulled out a sheet, setting the basket down onto the balcony's floor.

Heaving one end over the balcony rail and gripping the other, she aired the sheet out, serving to both signal to the person she knew was watching and get the traces of dust out of her linens.

"Come on, now," she said softly, perhaps to herself. "I know you're out there. You said you'd be back to pay me for the tip. You promised."

"I never break a promise," came the soft response from somewhere behind her. She did not turn.

"You smell like her," the squirrel muttered darkly. "I can tell."

"You've always been good with your nose."

The squirrel said nothing and simply draped the sheet over part of the banister. She picked up a blanket.

"The money is on your dresser," he finally said.

"I guessed."

"And she was chasing me. She got close, and she was wearing perfume."

The squirrel held back a cry of wrath. "I'll slit your throat if you tell me another lie like that."

He chuckled softly. "No lie. And she vaguely reminds me of you. That's the only reason I've ever been near her."

"Have you touched her?" The squirrel's voice never wavered. She was an actress. She was a street rose: good at lying, good at faking indifference. Good at what she did. Good at hitting people who thought she was a prostitute.

"I kissed her…does that count?"

"It would if I had the energy to hit you." The blanket was done; she picked up another sheet.

"Tough job?" There were hands on her back, now. They rubbed at her shoulders, gently easing out the knots.

"I need to take a corkscrew to my shoulder to rip out the muscle and stop the ache, and I came very close to being a murderess when someone commented rudely on my tail. Other than that, no."

"You have a lovely tail."

The squirrel's fist whipped behind her and never made contact. She hadn't really thought that it would, though.

He chuckled again. "Kacia, you needn't hit me for stating the obvious."

"Doesn't mean I won't," Kacia ground out from between gritted teeth as her companion found a tender spot on her shoulder. She sighed with relief at the loosening of the muscle, and went back to shaking out the sheet.

"Is Laurence still in business?"

"Did you hear about the explosion in the of the Tower of London last week?"

"Yes! That was good work!"

"He's gonna come down and do one of those to help Aunt Hazel break in next week."

The sheet was done. She hung it up and pulled out a comforter.

"And Handsome Zeke?"

"He's got a new set of wheels that he's _dying_ to try out. He's been practicing with New York traffic all month; says that it can make turns that would make a copper's head spin. He's flying it down in a few days. Business class for himself, the lucky sod."

"And what about you, my lovely mafia donna?"

"I'm focusing on getting Lefty to get his new software working. And I've got a sketch of something…"

The comforter was done. She hung it up.

"And I will tell you nothing of my idea," Kacia said, smiling involuntarily as two blue-clad arms wrapped around her, "until you stop running around with this other woman."

"Kacia," he whispered, resting his mouth lightly against the back of the squirrel's head "the reason I'm not in jail is because I flirt with her; I keep her off her guard and she can't catch up. And I will admit this: she is a very lovely woman."

The warning growl coming from the squirrel nicely informed him that she was fingering her switchblade.

"But," he continued, "I have no other woman. I kissed her because I needed to keep up pretenses. My gang knows that. You, darling, should know that. I love you. No one else." His tail swished gently, fluidly. He was very relaxed, finally having told her everything.

Kacia's acting was failing her. Her olive eyes were going cloudy, her face was heating up. Her hands were cold.

She was scared. Scared of the "what if"s, scared of waking up suddenly to find this exchange a dream, scared of the possibility of a well-whispered, well-practiced lie.

But if life had taught her anything, it was that fear had this nasty habit of liking to have dominance over people. Unless she was very much mistaken, this was her house, her life, and her opportunity. Opportunities, no matter what they are, should not be wasted. The best should be gotten out of all of them. If walking away can get the best, then the opportunity was not wasted. Control was Kacia's bag¹.

Besides, Kacia knew him too well. The good, the bad. The thefts, the celebrations, the reunions, the splitting up after the occasional project together. The strange companionship and lack of grudges or hate in the middle of it all.

The fact that they were the best at what they did. The fact that no one, not even each other, could pull a fast one on them.

And more over, the fact that his tail swished jerkily when he lied.

"Can I believe you completely on that?" she whispered, leaning against him. "Can I trust you with my heart? You stole it, and I've never said I wanted it back. Can I tell you to keep it, and will you take good care of it?"

"I always take care of the things I desire."

A night wind blew against them, and Kacia sighed. Now the hard part.

"Will this be theft," she asked in a stronger voice, now that the threat of rejection was close to past, "or fair exchange?"

She felt him smile.

"Fair exchange, Kacia, fair exchange."

"Is that a promise, Sly?"

"I promise." Kacia smiled silently, leaning her head against his chest, resting her hands on his arms and relaxing as the night wind blew gently over them.

Leaning around to kiss her cheek, he said, "And I never break a promise."

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**¹ slang for "something one likes or does regularly or well," just in case you cats² don't know proper terminology**

**² slang for "guy," often used when talking about a devotee of jazz or the jazz lifestyle**

**I like the ending, which is rare for me. I think it's cute.**

**Review, please! If I don't win this contest, I have to buy Kali a pizza! Nooooooooooo! **


End file.
